


illume

by NekoAisu



Series: VERs [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Kinktober 2018, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oracle Noctis Lucis Caelum, Penis In Vagina Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Trans Character, Vaginal Fingering, the tags make this sound intense but it's really not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/NekoAisu
Summary: There’s a thump from the closet before Noctis appears, wreathed in white like always, but in a very different manner than his usual. Celio can swear he can hear half his brain scream like it’s breaking down. He sort of agrees, getting to see his lover in lingerie is beyond just a pleasant surprise, but he also objects to his complete inability to process that fact that yes, those are stockings on his legs and no, this probably isn’t legal.“Would it be treasonous of me to say you look ravishing,” he whispers, transfixed.





	illume

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super late to the party, but here's to the first of finished kinktober fics! 
> 
> A couple warnings for possible dysphoria-inducing things:  
> Celio has had top surgery, but it's not mentioned in depth  
> His genitals are referred to using terms like pussy/clit

###  With one hand on his hip and slightly less than fifteen minutes to hurry his charge to Bahamut’s temple, Celio Bellamy is well and truly frustrated. “It’s nearly _noon,_ Your Highness. You need to get up,” he states. Far be it from his place to order around the next in line for the inheritance of both a kingdom and the post of Oracle, but he’s running far enough behind schedule that social class has fallen by the wayside. “If you aren’t up in the next minute, I’ll call in Gladiolus to drag you there in your pajamas for service.”

 

Noctis grumbles and pulls a pillow over his head, effectively refusing the offer. His breathing settles back to that of sleep within seconds. 

 

_ “Shiva preserve me,”  _ Celio prays, opening all the blackout curtains. He knows waking a Caelum is hard work, he’s had years of experience caring for the Fleuret siblings before being transferred to the Citadel as a manservant of sorts, and he’s not above using the same tricks he’d use to rouse Her Highness back at Fenestala Manor. He’s well aware that it almost always results in a rather grouchy charge, but it’s a necessary evil for the greater good of Lucis. “Highness, you have ten seconds before I dial Gladiolus,” he warns, walking over to his prince’ bed and leaning over to yank the sheets away. “I’d suggest you begin dressi- _ Noctis!”  _

 

There’s a  _ flump  _ when Celio is pulled bodily into the bed, uniform thoroughly disheveled from having Noctis yank at its lapels. “Don’t wanna. Stay in bed with me?” He smiles and it’s a soft, imploring thing. Celio flushes red from cheek to chest and smacks him in the face with a pillow for his efforts. 

 

They squabble for a moment before Celio falls straight off the side with a wheeze, taking a rather incensed crown prince with him. They continue roughhousing, laughing at each other in the way old friends tend to do, Noctis’s hand buried in Celio’s hair stilling before the rest of him does. Noctis’s smile fades from a grin to something sharper, more wolfish. His voice is silk smooth when he asks, “Wait for me after?” There’s a slight tug to the fibers before he lets go, a promise. 

 

“I  _ do  _ have other things to attend to other than you, Highness,” Celio points out, wriggling his way out from under his charge, “and those things cannot wait. Neither should you, with Gladiolus’s ETA being what it is.”

 

Noctis huffs, dragging himself to his feet before padding around to brush his teeth and fix his hair. There’s no sense in applying product after putting on his suit when it would just sit on the fabric and make it look cheap. He’s fully absorbed in his hair care ritual by the time Celio straightens out his uniform in full, tucking his shirt back in and trying to flatten his own unruly curls into some semblance of order once again. 

 

He shoots a soft glare at Noctis’s (annoyingly shapely) back and rifles through drawers of cufflinks and tie clips. The silver ones His Majesty had gifted after last month’s pre-coronation gala looked like a good choice for the day, circular engraved mandalas complimenting the all-black ensemble the prince had selected the night before. He sets those aside before searching for the matching tie clip only to come up empty. “Have you seen the-”

 

“Tie clip dad gave me? By the suit,” Noct answers. He smoothes down a particularly stubborn couple hairs and steps back from the mirror. “Help me dress, Celio?”

 

“I think you’ll find my assistance is hardly necessary, Highness,” his attendant-slash-lover answers. There’s no bite to the words, but Noctis still frowns. “If that’s all you need me for, I’ll take my leave.”

 

Celio is halfway to the door when Noctis calls, “Wait.” He nearly freezes in place, beholden to his prince. 

 

“Yes, Highness?”

 

Noctis focuses more on buttoning up his shirt than he does what he says, voice uncharacteristically pinched, “Do you  _ have  _ to?” He finishes with the shirt and pulls on his trousers after the stays are clipped in place. “I mean, I know you have stuff to do, but could you just─.” He pauses and takes a breath, fixing his eyes on Celio. “Can you stay with me afterward, once everything is done and taken care of?”

 

They stand there for a long moment, a soon-to-be king and his closest confidant (short of Ignis, who knows the dirt on  _ everyone _ ), before the tense tranquility is shattered by a boisterous knock at the door. “I hope you’re up, Noct, because I’m already out of patience,” Gladiolus warns, opening the door. He takes a good look at them both before whistling. “Sex-hair is a good look on you, Bellamy.”

 

Noctis cackles while Celio wheezes, stuttering through a recount of the morning’s events to avoid more possible teasing from the Shield. Gladiolus just pats him on the back and winks like he knows it’s all somehow a lie. 

 

“C’mon, Princess, we gotta go,” he reminds, raising a brow at how Noctis has gone red after searching for his usual dress shoes. There are boxes in the closet as per usual, fancy things he’s been given but never opened, and it seems one particular gift is beyond decency. He slams the lid closed and tosses it toward his winter coats before moving more of them out of the way in search of his shoes. Two minutes and some fumbling later, they’re all out the door. 

 

Celio forgets about being asked to stay until it’s a bit past lunch and he’s still not received word of the service coming to a close. He picks up Noctis’s lunch from the kitchens and heads up to the Caelum House’s own wing of the Citadel. He glances at his watch anxiously, knowing that using magic even in perfect health could prove risky. Trying it on an empty stomach is infinitely worse. He’d never be able to get over the guilt of letting his prince go without food if he ended up ill, or in Stasis. 

 

Upon arriving at Noctis’s door, he knocks. Sometimes Ignis is too overbooked to send him a text when they finish up at the temple and with healing the populace, so it’s not too far out of the ordinary to bring food to an already napping Noctis. What  _ is  _ unusual, however, is opening the bedroom door to a pile of open boxes and colorful packing paper. “Your Highness?” His voice takes on a worried pitch, wondering if there’s something wrong with the tribute given by any of Lucis’s noble Houses in honor of his upcoming coronation as Oracle. “Is everything alright?”

 

By the time he reaches the center of the room, Celio has noticed a pattern. Nearly all the gifts are from the same shop, save a few outliers, but the real differentiator is the color of the wrapping. No self respecting House would dare dress gifts to their prince in the wrong colors, but at least five different boxes are wine red, the paper nearly akin to gold leaf in its metallic sheen. Someone must have done something to upset Noctis, whether on purpose or on accident is still up for debate. 

 

There’s a thump from the closet before Noctis appears, wreathed in white like always, but in a very different manner than his usual. Celio can swear he can hear half his brain scream like it’s breaking down. He sort of agrees, getting to see his lover in lingerie is beyond just a pleasant surprise, but he also objects to his complete inability to process that fact that  _ yes, those are stockings on his legs and no, this probably isn’t legal.  _

 

“Would it be treasonous of me to say you look ravishing,” he whispers, transfixed. 

 

Noctis seems more fixated on the bag of food than anything else, walking over to grab it from Celio’s lax grip before responding with a flippant, “Maybe, maybe not. I sure won’t object if it’s  _ you  _ saying it.” He digs through the wrapped sandwiches for a moment before pulling out a bag of chips and half a tuna flatbread, making a face at the tomato he can already see peeking from under the cling-wrap. “Can you  _ please  _ tell them to stop trying to sneak vegetables into my food? Tomatoes are  _ gross.” _

 

“Tomatoes aren’t even a  _ vegetable,  _ Highness,” Celio says, mouth on autopilot while his brain catches up. He’s still trying to figure out if he’s hallucinating, or had passed out in the elevator─making this whole series of events some sort of thirst-induced fever dream. Noctis looks at him from where he’s setting up his food on the coffee table, half sitting on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he is  _ not,  _ in fact, dressed in regular loungewear and instead showing off what’s easily ninety percent of his body without a care.  _ Ramuh strike me down. I can’t deal with this image.  _

 

He turns to exit the room and clear his head, hoping Noctis doesn’t have any other surprises planned, and hasn't even managed more than a couple steps before Noctis orders, “Stay.”

 

It’s a deceptively simple command, the sort of thing meant to test boundaries they’ve only just started to establish, and isn’t anywhere near absolute. Celio has the option to refuse without repercussion and continue on with his day. The commands are things they’ve discussed, but it’s still a surprise when they’re used. Generally, it’s just Noctis abusing them to otherwise get more time together in bed, sleepy and sated, with Celio by his side. 

 

It’s nearly a surprise when Celio freezes where he stands, waiting for instruction. His hands tremble ever so slightly in anticipation and anxiety. They’d gone over this before, but he doesn’t feel quite ready for it. He doesn’t think he’ll  _ ever  _ be ready for it without Noctis taking the lead. Yes, he’d love to absolutely ravish his prince, but that’s exactly the  _ issue.  _ There’s a difference between being friends (or even just royalty and manservant) and falling into bed together like nothing else exists but sweat slick skin and euphoria. 

 

He feels nearly like it’s a transgression. Noctis deserves better. 

 

“Shower and leave your clothes on the sink.”

 

The walk to the bathroom feels like he’s moving through molasses, limbs travelling at one fourth speed while his mind races ahead. Washing up is mechanical and methodical, the smell of Noctis’s soap familiar from years of companionship. They’ve done things like this before. It’s just never been this  _ early.  _ The only time Noctis tends to have available is late at night and even  _ that _ is prone to variability. Toweling off prompts him to stop and look in the mirror. 

 

What Celio sees isn’t what he wishes he looked like. There are scars left behind from dumb things he’d done as a kid, silvery and nearly indistinguishable from his normal skin, and then there are the glaringly obvious ones on his chest. Those are still pink and nowhere near fading, marking his progress in achieving something ever closer to his goal. When he ghosts his fingers over the marks from the incisions, the area is still rather numb. He smiles and flicks the lights off. 

 

The light pouring in through the windows is near blinding, sun at the perfect angle to blanket them both in white gold when he steps out of the bathroom. Noctis looks up from where he’s fiddling with clasps and pristine white leather and motions for Celio to drop the towel, breathing, “Ready?”

 

“As I’ll ever be, yes.” The lack of clothing is enough to send Celio fidgeting, fingers knitting together while he stares pointedly at the floor and it’s tiled pattern of the Caelum House crest. He’s paying more attention to the sound of metal clicking together than  _ why  _ it’s occurring until Noctis is standing before him, patiently waiting for Celio to meet his eyes. 

 

His voice is teasing when he asks, “Are you trying to make a habit of waiting for orders already?” 

 

The collar in his hands sends a spike of want shooting from Celio’s head downward, sparking along his nerves and raising goosebumps in its wake. It’s hard to keep hold of a retort when just the sight of Noctis offering to care for him nearly knocks him to his knees. “Possibly, Highness. If it pleases you.”

 

“Come closer, then,” Noctis requests and Celio is helpless but to obey. Having barely two inches on his prince is useful enough when trying to play interference with the media as much as it is during scenes. Their similar heights mean there’s a bit less fumbling than what they’ve heard Prompto complaining about with Gladio, but it also poses a problem with how easy it is for Noctis to gently manhandle his lover to bed, hands sure where he buckles cuffs carefully snug and snaps fixations into place between D rings. He tests the space left between the inner suede lining and Celio’s skin the same time he asks, “You good?”

 

Celio tests the give with a whine, anxiety turning to raging heat when Noctis  _ laughs.  _ “Are you  _ seriously  _ taking advantage of the fact I can’t smack you in the head with a pillow for staring, Highn-Noctis?” He wiggles a little in place and attempts to swing his foot within proximity to Noctis’s face, bringing his wrist with it for what little movement the attempt is worth. He flails for barely a second more before remembering  _ oh yeah, no pants  _ and promptly pressing his thighs together like it would somehow lend him some magically manifesting briefs. 

 

“Maybe,” Noctis laughs, hands already straying to where they shouldn’t be. He watches how Celio’s breathing stutters when the pads of his fingers run too close to the places he needs them to touch. It’s with a voice already roughening with want that he praises, “You look good like this. Maybe we should make a habit of it, Celi.”

 

“Possibly,” Celio agrees, biting at his bottom lip in apprehension. It’s one thing to have his hands restrained, whether by a physical item or Noctis’s orders, but having the cuffs around his wrists clipped neatly to his ankles feels like nearly too much. Whenever his arms tense, shoulders drawing up every time Noctis gets any closer to his hips, his feet slip a little wider and he struggles to keep from attempting to cover up. Noctis just takes him in, still infuriatingly calm like somehow the lingerie has granted him boundless confidence. The hand rubbing circles on his side is calming, but the one snaking from navel to inner thigh is worrying. 

 

He’s ready to nearly jump out of his skin when Noctis presses forward, easily parting his legs and settling between them like it’s infinitely more comfortable to be there than sitting on the throne. “So… what’s the plan?”

 

“You’ll see,” Noctis answers, purposefully vague. He dips down, white lace wrinkling where it lays over his collarbones when he mouths at Celio’s thighs, kissing from the left knee inward and raising marks in his wake. He slides a finger along his lover’s heat gently, testing same as asking for permission. 

 

Celio’s breath catches halfway out of his lungs at the motion. His hips stutter and he bites his tongue on accident. “Gonna stop teasing me yet, Noctis?” He tries to glare down his chest, but it’s a wasted effort when Noctis just grins back at him. 

 

“It’s called foreplay,” he quips. The sentiment of  _ “and you can enjoy being on the receiving end of it for once”  _ goes unsaid. 

 

(Let it be said that Celio is one of the few who are terrible at reveling in pleasure, preferring to render his lover into a near comatose post-coital state versus allow himself to be served in such a way. Noctis enjoys being able to take him down to that point, even if heavy restraints are needed to do so.)

 

There’s a half a second’s hesitation before Celio drops his head back onto the sheets with a groan of resignation. Noctis grins into his thigh. He has the time to take a couple even breaths before Noctis gets to work in full and tosses all his carefully crafted control out the window like they aren't over thirty floors up. 

 

He’s fairly sure the moment Noctis’s fingers pull him apart his face bursts to flame. The tongue that follows only seals his fate (cause of death: getting eaten out the the Crown Prince of Lucis). 

 

With the sexual experience of a particularly menacing cactus, it’s always a toss up on whether or not Noctis will make some new and not-at-all-regal talent known each time they have sex. It’s not at all unusual, nor unwarranted given their proclivity for startlingly vanilla trysts, but it never fails to raise color to Celio’s cheeks. The apparent knowledge his prince holds on exactly how to go down on someone with different gear from his own is arousing as all hell. 

 

Noctis focuses most of his attention on what reactions he can pull from Celio, one hand idly holding his hips in place. He’s a little clumsy with his tongue, but the hand slowly working one finger into him is anything if not familiar. There's a slight tilt up when Noctis draws them out, careful with his nails even short and manicured as they are. There’s a slight scrape of teeth against the hood of Celio’s clit in passing, barely even a glancing touch, and his toes curl. He’s not watching his tone when he orders, “Do that again.”

 

Noctis seems puzzled before going back to what he was doing, watching for even the barest indication of what Celio really means all while working a second finger into him─lube already long since slicking his fingers once he’d managed to find it among the mess of pillows shoved haphazardly to the side. When it happens again, Celio makes a sound nearly like he’s choked on air. 

 

When Noctis pulls back, his face is ever so slightly shiny from the mouth down. “You alright there?”

 

Celio fumbles for a response, hands scrambling for purchase like they’ll somehow let him put words to the feeling of getting worked over for the first time in a long while. He settles on a very nearly sacreligious whisper of,  _ “If the astrals knew how good you were with that mouth, they’d probably damn us both.” _

 

Noctis laughs, white lingerie a direct reminder of his role in Eos’s care and keeping more than the cuffs keeping Celio bound. “Better only call out my name,” he jokes, settling back down to continue with his plan (the same one he’d titled “Pamper Celio 2K18” in jest like it wasn’t always part of his arguably overcrowded agenda). 

 

By the time he has three fingers in up to the last knuckle, Noctis is pretty sure they’ve already ruined the sheets. Celio is dripping around him and there are fine tremors building from his core outward. He’s fallen from the good graces of coherency and now speaks in tongues instead. Noctis isn’t sure he’s ever heard a more lovely sound than that of the animal cry of his lover coming undone. 

 

It’s been slow going, but the way he’d been able to watch Celio’s body draw tight, chest shining with sweat and marked up in stark in hues of red and faint purple. Noctis is nearly surprised when Celio comes, face positively soaked when he pulls back from the wet heat he’d been worshipping, fingers still working him through it gently to prolong the aftershocks. 

 

He replays the way Celio stuttered confidently through his name, nearly wild with pleasure when Noctis had tried sucking gently at his clit. The way his hips had shifted ever closer as he’d cried, “Noct-Noctis,  _ highness, please─”  _

 

His jaw is a little sore and he’s pretty sure he’s not at all a stunning picture, but Celio smiles at him through the post-coital haze of a nearly eos-shattering orgasm like he’s hung the moon and stars. He unclips the fixations and makes to remove the cuffs in full with intent to care for him, but he severely underestimates the scope of his lover’s determination to reciprocate. 

 

Within seconds, Celio is yanking him up and laying him out on the bed with all the unpredictable strength of an endorphin flooded young adult. Noctis raises one thin, annoyingly commanding brow when Celio climbs atop him victoriously. Neither of them are under any illusions of Noctis’s indisputable strength. “Need something?”

 

“Not sure,” his attendant replies, fumbling with the lube before managing to pop the cap. “Was hoping you’d tell me, Noctis.”

 

It’s an unfair move, they both know. Noctis has never learned to not ask anything and everything from Celio same as how Celio never requests anything in return. He’s halfway to asking Celio to just drop all pretenses and  _ fuck him already  _ because there are few things that get him going so well as feeling the blood-hot folds of his lover’s heat against him. All he wants is to somehow be in there and, if Celio doesn’t want to give that to him, at least ride his lover until they’re both sated and nearly numb. He just needs  _ something,  _ at the very least. 

 

What he gets is the press of work-calloused fingers against his skin, the bite of nails where Celio’s grip is the slightest bit too tight on his shoulder, followed by a near flood of affectionate kisses. Noctis isn’t expecting anything more than a possible clumsy handjob accompanied by Celio’s particular brand of boundless devotion. He’s left to scrabble for purchase among his sheets and their slippery, impossible threadcount when Celio slides backward and slicks him up nearly too much. 

 

“Tell me what you want, Noctis,” Celio prompts, lips brushing featherlight along his neck. He’s patient even with desire burning low in his gut and a prince pinned below him. 

 

Noctis all but whines, reaching for his lover and tugging him down, down, down like Celio will somehow relent without clear orders and give him what he craves. He wants to bury his face in the pillows with how hard his cheeks burn when he admits, “Need you.”

 

He’d intended for the afternoon to be filled with the power trip that comes with taking Celio down and doing away with his insecurities for a few hours. He’d been getting off with his face pressed snug against his lover’s heat. It had barely been a thought to touch himself and take the edge off when Celio would pulse around him, pussy nearly too tight around his fingers. Now, with his plans interrupted and the cause thereof perched atop him, Noctis bends to his will. 

 

“What was that?” Celio’s hands slip under the fine lace of Noctis’s lingerie. He runs his nails down his prince’s chest with satisfaction, watching pink bloom in their wake before it fades. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

 

“Celio, I swear to the  _ gods-” _

 

“I thought we agreed that summoning Bahamut during sex was beyond banned after the first time,” he interjects. “Be honest with me. What do you want?” He wraps his fingers around Noctis’s dick and gives it a slow stroke, hand a little too dry for it to be completely pleasurable, but that’s easily remedied when he tugs the bottom of the lingerie aside and slicks up his palm. When he replaces the grip, he doesn’t move. 

 

Noctis bucks his hips upward best he can with someone sitting on his legs and it’s nearly enough to draw the barest of gasps from his lips. 

 

But then Celio removes his hand altogether. 

 

“Touch me.”

 

“Where?” He mouths over a nipple through the sheer fabric, listening as Noctis’s breath hitches and shudders from his chest. 

 

“Not enough,” Noctis gasps when a finger probes at his entrance─pressing with the pads and never penetrating─before retreating. “Need you, Celi.  _ Please.” _

 

Celio smiles and it’s wild with hunger. “I thought you’d never ask,” he quips. When he holds Noctis steady to sink down on him, residual slick combined with a liberal amount of lube easing the way, it’s euphoria. 

 

There’s no narrowing down of stimuli, no immediate fireworks, or a sudden sense of rightness. Instead, it’s the rubbing of fine stitching against his sides, the slow pool of precum soaking into silvered threads, and Celio’s perfect heat surrounding him. It’s like his body can’t decide between tossing itself wholly into the wanton place it’s been slipping ever nearer to, or keep him from abandoning all dignity by forcing him to feel everything as if it’s amplified. 

 

When he’s bottomed out in full, it’s nearly too much. Celio is breathing in small gasps, hands braced against his chest like he’ll collapse forward without them. His hair is matted to his face in sections of silver and the sun hits him bright enough it looks reminiscent to a halo. Noctis is fairly sure Celio is some sort of angel, if not a Messenger fallen from the realm of Astrals. There is no other reason why he should be so utterly breathtaking. 

 

Noctis groans when Celio rolls his hips in tight circles, slowly working himself up to a faster pace. It’s too good and not enough all at once, then, and the longer it goes on the more desperate they both become. Celio reaches down to massage at his clit, tightening in shocks and starts every time a new lance of pleasure adds to the taught coil he wishes would just  _ snap.  _ Noctis can’t decide whether or not he can even keep his eyes open when his vision is very near to blurry and there’s a tangible sense of urgency buzzing in the air and beneath his skin.

 

When he comes, it’s nearly a blindside. He’d felt it building for what seemed near impossible given his previous deprivation, but then there’s Celio grinding down on him and nearly convulsing as his muscles draw tense and beautiful in ecstasy. 

 

There is no stopping how his hands wrap and squeeze at the muscle on his lover’s legs, how he holds him there as his orgasm rushes through him with all the force and ferocity of a tsunami. He barely manages to loosen his grip before Celio is dropping forward to pepper his face in chaste kisses, praise disjointed and slightly stilted, but appreciated all the same. 

 

They lay together, sweat rapidly cooling and going from tolerable to just plain gross where it’s become tacky. Noctis’s voice is rough from a volume he wasn’t sure he ever achieved when he asks, “Shower?”

 

“I vote bath,” Celio counters and they both laugh. 

 

“Sounds good,” he agrees. “Thanks for this, Celi. I mean it.”

 

His lover shrugs with one shoulder and replies, “I could say the same. Thank you for indulging me.”

 

They share a couple minutes more basking in the afterglow before it fades enough for their physical states to become decently uncomfortable. 

 

“Bath time?” Celio suggests with a yawn. Noctis follows suit and smiles, sated and sleepy. 

 

“Hell yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and concrit are all appreciated and encouraged!
> 
> Inspo for the vaguely described accouterments in this fic:  
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/628106422/bondage-set-bdsm-set-leather?ref=shop_home_active_4  
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/615564839/ebony-ivory-bodylacevelvet-black-white?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=white%20lingerie&ref=sr_gallery-2-15&organic_search_click=1&more_colors=1


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